


Just Because You Feel It; Doesn’t Mean It’s There

by jolyfish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Character Study, Gay Sansa Stark, Gen, Lesbian Sansa Stark, Post-Canon, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolyfish/pseuds/jolyfish
Summary: It’s only a matter of time before Sansa had to get married, so the revelation happened at either the best or the worst time.





	Just Because You Feel It; Doesn’t Mean It’s There

Sansa said that she had never really liked Joffrey at all.

Was it the gift of hindsight? Of course it was. It was that any time after that she couldn’t look at his stupid face without seeing the way Ice was brought down, all to sudden, not quite real. Looking back, that was all she ever saw, the swing of the sword, from the day her betrothed set foot in Winterfell. Arya was luckier. She somehow managed to talk about the early days without wincing. Always so light heartedly. “Gods, were you insufferable.” She’d say. And Arya never got things wrong. Even if she couldn’t remember, Sansa knew there was something she’d liked about Joffrey. And as she got older she knew what it was: the Red Keep, the Seven Kingdoms, the smallfolk looking in to her in admiration, the balls and the pretty gowns and the songs and the food. It was being the Queen. It didn’t matter whose Queen she was.

Sansa Stark has spent her coming of age mostly crying in her bedchamber. For her first eleven years, she felt time move so slowly, never even listening to her father’s warnings of winter. In the time that it had come and gone she felt she’d lived and died over and over- and maybe she had, as a Lannister and a Stone. And yet, there was no way she could look at herself and see a woman grown. Robb had always been there to do everything first.

It just didn’t seem fair, and it wasn’t just because she was the first of her siblings still alive to see sixteen. It didn’t matter if they were the most important people between the Wall, or what was left of it, and the Neck. Arya was older than she was at her first marriage now, and no one had considered it for her, least of all Arya herself. Whatever he thought of it, it was clear that nobody considered marriage an option for Bran, either, and Rickon was, well, eight years old. Somehow, it all fell on her to find a husband, and she’d have several years at most to do so. 

It was all she thought about once. They all made falling in love sound so beautiful in the songs. Sansa was sure it had never happened to her. But she hadn’t always.  
There was a time once, after her father’s death. And, in his weird little way, the Hound had looked out for her. And she couldn’t help but have this feeling, telling her to get as far away from him as she could. A feeling that made her stomach flip. They said that meant love, and a little voice would tell her. It was the fault of the songs and stories, singing of it like it was fear. Because that had been all she felt, outright terror. She could’ve been a better person for looking past what happened to his face but she’d almost forgotten him now. 

Sansa had never been scared of the Knight of the Flowers. He was safe. He was who the girls were supposed to like, after all, at least the ones who were oblivious to the fact that he didn’t like the girls he was supposed to. When it was clear that he’d never care for her, it made Sansa feel better. Safe. Someone you could love from a secure distance, basking in its futility. They said what happened to him was a plot by the Queen, scared he’d turn Tommen the same way. The thought made her skin crawl, but she didn’t know why.   
She didn’t count anything when she was Alayne. She couldn’t think about him, not ever. Not without retching. Nothing she did or said then, was her. She could talk to Harry, she could pretend to like him, because it was all pretend. 

Sansa said that she never wanted to see another man again after he was dead. No one blamed her for it. But here she was, on the way to becoming an old maid, and she didn’t feel any better about them.  
The truth was: Sansa Stark could not fall in love. Not with anyone. And she’d wanted to, no matter how much mother and father had grown to love each other, she didn’t have the patience. Or maybe she just...couldn’t. It wasn’t easy to think about.

It was a little while after her birthday that the diplomatic visit occurred. They welcomed Asha to Winterfell, Bran understandably not wanting to leave despite having sealed those wounds in theory. Sometimes, she wondered if it was Theon who wanted to see it again. (Jeyne Poole wouldn’t go within a mile of it, Sansa tried to be understanding.)   
Asha Greyjoy was the woman Arya thought she was. But even she was surprised to see the woman who accompanied her, taller, stronger, even more terrifying. She gave off an energy that meant Sansa couldn’t look away, despite not actually knowing who she was. Apparently lowborn, and no one with any reason to visit the North. It was her sister in law, Jeyne- who wore a black gown and had not married again- who told her. That lady was Asha’s mistress.

Of course that made Sansa uncomfortable. She didn’t see what was morally wrong, so to speak, not when she was all to aware of all the worse things men and women could do, but it was...unsettling. It was. But she was Lady of Winterfell, and no matter what others were entitled to her respect. She was supposed to set an example- she’d never outgrown the need to have people like her. Sansa had to deal with it. Soon enough, she got used to the idea of two women together. And then she got far too used to the idea. It was an offhand comment, by someone she couldn’t remember, something about how they were surprised Sansa hadn’t ‘turned that way’ after Tyrion. She’d been insulted, mostly on Tyrion’s behalf.

She would let her mind wander. She considered what it would be like if she was that sort of woman. And then it all tumbled down on her. Margaery and her big brown eyes and her smile and how desperate Sansa was for her approval. And even before how for some reason her heart sank a little when Jeyne Poole talked about all the boys she became besotted with. She didn’t want to cry about it. Instead, the girl she saw in the mirror got closer to being who she recognised. 

Sansa passed her seventeenth nameday knowing at any point some boring man would ask for her hand. But, no matter how much the prospect scared her, at the very least she could understand why.


End file.
